


The Black Horse

by TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen



Series: Black Horse 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU (Canon Adjacent), BAMF Dean, BAMF Sammy, Baby's POV, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Boy King, Broken Sammy, Cow boy, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Potential non con / dub con, Rough Sex, Soulmates, Temporary Character Death, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Wild West, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 11:05:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13635018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen/pseuds/TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen
Summary: In another time and another place, there was once a great black beast made up of strong sleek lines, all fearsome grace and power. Its skin was black as midnight and it shone in the sun like the flash of liquid mercury. Its voice was a roar and its speed was unmatched. Steadfast and true, its master called it Baby. Not only would it carry and protect two heroes who would save the world, but it would save the world itself.That time is not now and that place is not here but surely the soul of the beast is the same. And this is Baby’s story in a more uncivilised time.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/Ns  
> -Baby’s POV- what?? It’s a horse for fricks sake. Okay so my Muse decided to show up and demanded I attempt to tell more about the horse from And He Rode A Black Horse. My Muse is crazy and apparently so am I. But here it is. And it will probably make more sense if you have read the other one first :)
> 
> \- As always unbeta’d so abject apologies for my inadequacies. :)
> 
> -Warnings re non/dub con. first story gives the background. Sam suffers the curse of his demon blood and is not always in control and occasionally things get rough. Dean is consenting but sometimes being injured. Sam is distressed at hurting his brother (and nearly destroying the world). Story contains non-graphic potentially non/dub con sex due to sam not being fully self aware. then a few moderate descriptions concerning injuries. The story is a total flight of fancy and told in brief legend style. It offers no moral comment on any of the contents. if required see chapter endnotes for details.

The night has grown late. Darkness like a blanket shrouds the world hiding its scars and imperfections. The gentle shushing of the wind in the trees and the rhythmic cries of insects, give lie to the supposition that the blackness is barren. The world merely slumbers, it is not gone. But outside this quiet dell, an oasis in a vast expanse of wilderness, there may as well be nothing else, at least as far as two brothers are concerned. They lay wrapped for once in peaceful slumber, the dying embers of the fire gently lighting their features. But even in slumber they are focused only on one thing. Bodies drawn one to another. Hands always grasping, reaching, ever searching unless secured against warm solid flesh. Faces yearning to be buried into dark warm crevices, sleep gentle pillows of flesh filled with the scent of home and endurance. Ears ever listening for the echo of slow deep breaths and the answering thud of a steady heart. 

A small drifting fly crests out of the night and meanders its way past the scene. It dares to find perch upon the warm inky back of the giant beast that stands guard over the men. Yet even as it alights a shiver ghosts through the gleaming flank and a great flick of a thick tail sends the insect flurrying away. But the moment of reflection is broken. Great onyx eyes rise from the still forms of its masters and calmly scan the darkness. Ears twitch against the shushing of the wind, searching under the noise for disturbance. Nostrils flare in a gentle snort as the flavours of the night are dissected. But the night remains calm.

A toss of its great head settles the sleek mane more comfortably across its neck and the steadfast beast gives a rare shift of movement. Midnight hooves scratch lightly against the soil. Although nothing presents itself there is a sense of anticipation in the air.

Dean shifts in his sleep, an unconscious response to the movement, he pulls his brother close, but does not wake. The action drawing back the watchful eye of the steed. ‘Dean’ is one of the few words it recognises. Words are not common between its marsters, unless they are visiting the human dwellings, and the noises mean little to the beast. It does not deal in words, it communes in the same manner as the two it has chosen to serve. With posture and motion, eye contact and emotion. Noise mainly added for emphasis or attention. But occasionally a set noise is repeated often enough and with such depth of emotion that it is seared into memory. ‘Dean’ is one such word as this. The tall master breathes it with love and relief, devotion and gratitude. Or cries it with anguish and desperation, confidence and belief. ‘Sam’ - the tall master - is another word their companion has learnt. This word carries with it such overwhelming worship and resolute commitment, that it is its own definition. Sam is the word for god and eternity and home. 

And beneath these two words is ‘Baby’. Baby is a quiet word, a gentle word. One murmured by Dean to mean gratitude and affection, companionship and endurance- surpassed only by ‘Sam’. And for the sound of that noise ‘Baby’ and the warm hand that comes with it on the stretch of its neck, the beast would once again storm the very gates of hell. 

The night seems to shiver and the sense of anticipation rises and breaks into movement as the air parts and a being in the shape of a man steps silently from nowhere to stand before the horse.

“Hello my friend” it rumbles in a deep calm voice that travels only to the beast it faces. Blue eyes like the deepest mountain pool of crystal waters reflecting a boundless summer sky unmarred by clouds, meet liquid onyx and place the cordial greeting in the creatures mind. 

The man shaped being is a strange thing in the eyes of the beast. It is light and shadow and power in motion, compressed crudely into the shape of a man with the addition of giant black wings overshadowing and surmounting it. Only the depthless blue eyes create a solid point of contact, and the beast is glad that the being can touch its mind. For its form gives nothing away and the noises it makes fall flat. But this one has been good to the beast, it had taken hold of the steed when it was no more than a foal and raised it up out of destruction. Lifting the creature out of the deviation that had consumed its old world and nearly torn it apart and rebuilt the steed piece by piece. It had provided the creature with safety and security in heaven until its destiny had arrived in the form of a grieving and furious human. One half of a sundered soul in desperate need of assistance.

After its two masters this celestial being is the closest thing to family that the creature has. So it whickered softly and gently lowered its forehead to the beings chest in respectful greeting. Energy thinly cased in warm flesh rose to caress the long neck - the hand did not have the weight of the master's hand but the touch still brought some comfort.

“I need you to take extra care of them my friend” the angel said as it sent images to the creature. “The road ahead of you is long and hard. For the Morning Star is stirring in his bonds and his daughter is frantically seeking his freedom. The demon horde the Yellow Eye lead will be as nothing if the Light Bringer is freed to walk the earth.” Its eyes drift over to the slumbering men as its hand stills on the creature’s neck “and though we already ask too much of them I fear there are only two with the power to halt this destruction.”

For long moments both sets of eyes, each lit in their own manner, remain glued on the unfortunate minions of destiny. With an oddly human sigh the angel steps away from the beast. “Remain steadfast to them, my friend.” It says as it begins to fade. The beast does not dignify such with a response. But before the angel finally vanishes, faint pictures steam from its mind with the parting call: “and beware of Michael!” 

Now that would call for a response but the celestial is gone. And the steed settles back into its sentry duty lightly troubled. Warnings of Hell are dire but not entirely unexpected, warnings of Heaven mean trouble.


	2. Chapter 1 - Portends

Baby was dosing on its feet. The hour still early. The sky only just now starting to lighten with the gray glint of dawn. The sky was overcast and the damp in the air that threatened more rain.

They had been running hard the last few weeks, the masters chasing story after story of demons abroad in the wilds. Baby had run sure and long, stretching its nose to the wind and extending its sleek legs in ground eating strides, chasing down the putrid stench of the hell. They had destroyed 12 of the monsters in the last month alone. Three of them the very night before. Finally hunting down the demons in the early hours, miles from the ramshackle homestead they had devastated. Baby crushing the first under its hooves before the masters dispatched the remainder. The fetid stink of the demons black ichor still clung to the mounts fetlocks, and the greasy smoke as they burned the remains had wormed like maggots into its coat. 

It had taken Dean a long time to calm Sam after the brief battle. The frequency of the incursions and the increased combat placing ever more strain on his control. Baby daily felt the added tension in the tall master's legs as he sat on its back. The desperation in his grip on his brother. And it saw the worry Dean tried to hide and the bruises on rare glimpses of his skin. The toll it took on his body.

The men had finally succumbed to fitful slumber. Huddled seated under a large tree, a rough blanket pulled over head and shoulders to hold off the damp. The tall master half folded into his brother’s lap, their arms clenched around one another. In a few more hours Dean would rise and scrounge up some food. He would find some grass and help clear the filth from Baby’s coat and hooves. Until then the beast was content to doze keeping one ear alert to watch over its charges.

-

The rain had arrived. Not a torrent. Just a steady miserable drizzle. It filled the air with heavy mist and slithered its way through clothes and hair. The trees dropped as if wearied beyond belief. Water pooled in the dirt as through lacking the energy to travel further. The clouds hugged the ground like a widow bowed by loss and in the gray bleakness the sun refused to show its face. Even such a proud beast as Baby was finding it hard to raise much energy. It’s mane hung heavy and limp, tricking runnels of water down its neck. Its gleaming flanks were muted under the gray skies and saturated with water. The only positive to the cold and wet was that some of the demon stink was washing away. 

It was still a relief to see Dean finally wonder over. His hat pulled low over his eyes and the collar of his great black coat turned up high. But he had left off his gloves, and his heavily calloused skin was warm and firm as it met Baby's neck. The fingers digging strongly through the thick black hairs until they met living skin and scratched firmly. The beast didn’t even try to hold back the rumble of pleasure as it leaned its considerable weight into the man. The response being a rueful ‘ohhfffff’ and a tiny chuckle as a ton of soaking wet horse made its presence known. For a long moment they leaned one against each other. Warmth growing along the damp line where they touched. Strong fingers grounded on the proud lines of sleek muscle still scratching gently as both just breathed. Then Dean straightened his back and squared his shoulders. Taking a deep breath he gave the beast a firm pat on the shoulder and swept carefully eyes and hands along its lines.

“C’mon Baby” he murmured softly. Moving off, his eyes already scanning the ground for a suitable patch of long grass, hopefully still a little dry. He’d get his baby back in peak condition in no time. And the reasons why the beast followed trustingly after the man were legion.

-

The rain had slowed and cleared but the skies still hung low. The ground was saturated with water, every step that the steed took flinging cold murky sludge up its flanks. The warm solid weight on its back and the hand that lay soft on its mane gave light guiding touches and comfort. Despite the mess under-hoof its gait was smooth and steady, the precious cargo it carried secure. And as always its charges were so closely bound, that it seemed to have only one rider and found no difficulty in anticipating their requirements.

It was tension in the men’s legs and the straightening of their spines, that alerted the horse before the hand on its mane tightened. It pulled smoothly to a halt and raised its head glancing over its shoulder but the men’s eyes were fixed on the horizon. The stilted wind that failed to clear the heavy clouds blew from their back, no scent reached their nostrils but a column of smoke rose before them at the edge of the soggy land. The stalwart creature felt the men shift as their eyes met. It didn’t need to look to know they frowned. The land was soggy and the column rose thick. Whatever burned ahead ment trouble. 

There was tightness in the leg that tapped the stead to move forward, muscles ready and alert for swift action. No other warning for caution was needed. The creature walked steadily, placing its hooves with care to avoid excess noise. Its great muscled bulk loose but prepared at a moments notice to provide anything it was asked. 

And when they at last came in sight of another devastated homestead and a shift in the wind brought the stench of rotten eggs, the beast felt more then heard its master's silent sigh. But nevertheless when they tightened their seat and leaned into its neck, the beast picked up it pace and it ran.


	3. Chapter 2 - Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N dub/non con caution. More details in endnotes.

There is nothing sweet or meek about the beast as it rears screaming. Throwing forward its monstrous bulk of gleaming black mass. An dred apparition from the depths of nightmare, its onyx eyes flash with rage as enormous hooves come smashing down on the snarling fiend. Black ichor is flying as the clawing, screaming mass beneath is reduced to a quivering mess of shattered bone and pulp. 

The rotten stink of Hell saturates the air, screams and cries pierce the evening. The local woman is still huddled in the corner of the yard, screaming unendingly over the broken body of her husband. The steed ignores the noise its attention ever drawn to its charges. The tall master stands at the center of a storm. Like the very air itself tries to flee from him but is flayed and whipped at every turn. Though his back is turned to the beast his posture is unnaturally straight, his right arm raised before him, the command of a vengeful god. In the air directly to his front hang a pair of demons- their faces contorted in a rictus grimace. Blood streams from their eyes and mouths, their throats working convulsively although no sound emerges. But it’s the master the beast is watching. Watching as his left hand rises languidly and almost tenderly sweeps blood from the closest demon’s face. And as the master turns his head to gaze entranced at the crimson soaked fingers, the steed sees no shine of his kaleidoscope eyes, just a broil of flames in a void of black. A fission of fear shivers the creature and its nostrils quiver as onyx eyes roll. The steadfast companion not easily spooked looks frantically for its other master.

Dean is battling two demons. Smarter than most mindless minions, for once they are working together. The valiant human having trouble fending off the joint attack, the small demon knife a blur of motion. 

The crash of a mountain of pitch black flesh into the lefternmost fiend is a welcome relief, and it is short work for Dean to dodge single thrusts and sink his blade into the other demon’s heart. The flash and crackle of its death throes are hardly noticed as the man raises grateful eyes to the steed. But immediately its large blunt teeth are clamped down on the humans sleeve and he is pulled forward. Confused emerald eyes seek explanation even as muscles tense ready, but the gaze is captured by the sight of his brother. The man stands a silent monolith at the vortex of a raging storm, right hand still extended though the hanging demons are dead. Blood drips sluggishly from their ruined faces, but their executioner has eyes for nothing but his left hand and the gleaming red fingers held before his frozen gaze.

“SAMMY!” The gravel rough cry is torn as if from the ruined depths of hell and flung desperately into the evening sky. It is full of fear and desperation, anger and love. 

There is a twitch in the fire filled orbs but they can’t seem to be drawn from the siren sweet sight that holds them fast.

Dean is already scrambling forward, flinging his body in front of the conflicted god, hands grasping for the bloody wrist, face thrusting up to block out the hateful beloved sight.

The demon which the steed had bowled over when it charged to rescue its master, makes a screaming howl as it attempts to re enter the fray on shattered legs. But now that the tall master is caught in the hands of his brother the steed turns back and with furious strides crushes the fiend. 

-

The waning evening is still split by the grieving wails of the woman. But it is a low steady stream of noise that holds the horse’s ear. Most of the words make no sense to it but ‘Here’ and ‘Sam’ and ‘okay’ drift out of the rumble in Dean’s low, soothing tone. The intensity says ‘I’m not leaving’. The rhythm and cadence whispers ‘you’re safe’. The steed can see that the tall master's face is cradled in strong hands. Green eyes locked to it, rock steady and enduring. Wide full lips hover inches from those clamped tight, and rumble out warm breath with the endless flow of words. The slow calm beat of his heart says: be here with me. Do as I do. I won’t let you go. 

When Sam finally becomes present in his gaze, the flames do not boil away. But his eyes now track to his brother. The steed turns away to the the sounds of growls and ripping clothes and clashing skin. The cries and grunts and harsh sawing of breath do not sound much different from the prior battle. But the beast knows that this is not a fight in which it is needed. The creature turns its gaze out over the battered walls of the homestead and the blood soaked mangled bodies of the dead. It feels no distress at the sound of bodies hitting the ground as the two men cry out and pant. This is normal, any injuries now so much less than when they had first rescued the tall master from the pits of hell. Dean will control his brother as much as he is able and soon the noises will soften. But its charges will be occupied for a while, it has no desire to leave them vulnerable in their need. It stands guard a few paces away and watches the night.

It’s longer then expected before the beast notices that the wails of the woman have choked off. The savage cries of his masters having risen to desperate levels - the snarls and cries of pain crashing and mangling together - are now descending into soft grunts and the welcome moan of ‘Dean’ gets the revered reply of ‘Sammy’. The horse spares no thought for the woman but it shivers in joy to hear reason return to its masters’ voices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sam is out of control by the end of the chapter and the sex is a bit rough. The scene isn’t covered in detail but the implications are there. Dean is consenting but Sam certainly wouldn’t do that to him if he was fully himself. So warnings for violent dub/non con.


	4. Chapter 3 - Tipping Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N dub/non con aftermath caution. More details in endnotes.

The human woman seems to be having some kind of fit. Her tear streaked face is an alarming shade of red. She has abandoned her husband's body to scuttle into the doorway of her home. Half hiding behind the shattered door frame she is clutching a shaft of wood as her arms flail wildly. The words she is screeching appear to be noise even if one understands human sounds. But the word ‘demons’ comes through often and loudly and she is not looking at the mangled flesh scattered about her yard. She is glaring at the two naked men surrounded by shredded clothing and covered head to toe in blood and mud. The tall master is slumped with his face buried next to his brother’s flaccid cock, the remains of his brother’s own issue squashed carelessly under his cheek and coating his dirty hair where it presses into the other’s belly. Dean is hunched protectively over Sam’s shoulders, even in his exhaustion. His chest and neck covered in deep bloody gouges. The blood mixed with seed which he can feel trickling down his thighs is ignored, as with the sharp stabbing pain still radiating up through his pelvis. He doesn’t spare the woman more then a twitch, his entire being still focused on his brother.

The steed moves forward its considerable bulk, placing its body between its charges and the threat. Head raised tall and teeth bared, it pounds a giant hoof into the mud and rumbles ominously in its chest. The final rays of the sinking sun paint gleaming midnight flanks in glowing crimson and the fierce blaze in its intelligent onyx eyes promise deadly retribution. Faced with a manifestation of the darkest Wild Hunt, the woman's noise ceases abruptly. With a frantic skuttle she slams shut her ruined door and the sounds of banging and crashing follow as she piles against it what she can.

The beast snots disdainfully with a roll of its eyes, before regarding its own humans once more. They can’t say here. The bodies scattered unburned, the ragged fences no protection, the surviving human unpredictable.

With a gentle sigh it lowers its face and huffs air softly on its master’s nostrils. It’s me. We are Herd. You are safe. 

A weary hand comes up to brush its velvety lips. But still the master only has thought for his brother.

Groaning the beast lowers itself into the mud and offers its back to its charge. When there is still no movement it cranes round its massive head to nudge firmly at the other’s shoulder. Come on. Get on. I know you are hurt/worried/tired. But we can’t stay here.

Slowly Dean rouses himself. “Sammy? C’mon Sammy. We have to get up.” 

The tall master doesn’t respond but he turns his face deeper into his brother. A steady tremor is running through his hunched shoulders, tears leek unheeded from tightly clenched eyes.

It seems to be the hardest task ever attempted but Dean raises shaking arms, takes hold of giant shoulders and hauls and pushes his brother until he is laying face down across the beast’s shoulders. Their packs crumpled under the man’s unmoving bulk. The faint whimper of loss that Sam makes as he loses his brother’s embrace is heart rending. But Dean follows quickly as able, pausing only to snatch up his demon blade from the tatters of his clothes before curling himself over his brother’s back. The knife is pushed into the top of one pack and a leg shakily dragged over the steed’s haunches. Both hands tangle tightly in the inky mane, but it seems that is all the strength the man had.

Baby rolls with the utmost care to get its legs underneath its great bulk. Rising to its feet is no mean task even for such a rare beast as itself. But it is careful at all times to keep its precious cargo centred on its back. The steadfast companion uses every ounce of its great strength to rise like a Phoenix greeting the sun, not a hitch or a bump to jar its motion. And with infinite patience it adjusts its burden and steps smoothly forward. Two naked and despoiled fallen gods sumounting its splattered glory, the beast slips silently into the dusk, only the tattered remnants of destruction to bear witness to its departure.

-

The night grows cold and its charges have gone limp. There are no more stifled flinches from Dean, the ragged shudders from Sam have reduced to an unconscious tremble. The soft sounds of laboured breathing the only indication of life. But at least in that they are still in unison, even when senseless.

Though now far from the site of the demon confrontation, the men are still naked, wounded and vulnerable. They need more than the sure step and watchful eyes of a loyal steed. The beast decides to do something it has never done before. It raises its head to the night and lets loose a great whinny. Beneath the call it pushes outwards the image of its friend. The elusive celestial with the wings of shadow and the eyes of sky blue. And the call shimmers in the ether like the ringing of a giant bell.

Only seconds pass before the air parts and the angel’s low voice sounds, “Hello my friend.”

The steed whickers softly in relief as bottomless blue eyes quickly asses the state of its charges. They have not stirred at the noise or appearance. Even with the beast’s limited understanding of facial movements and the being’s stilted approximation of such things, the expression on the angel is grave.

“It is not safe for me to tarry, and any use of my grace would only light a beacon.” Soft words overlay shape images. The cold and formal picture of Michael appears in the steed’s mind. His eyes pitiless and greedy and eagerly searching. “But a small door will not be felt. I can give them a place to rest. But it would be best that I interfere no further lest I place them in even greater danger.”

The beast gets the gist of the images and steps forward in agreement. A safe place is better than nothing.

“Call for me when they are well.” The angel intones as a door parts the empty night. “I will continue to do what I can meanwhile to distract the eyes of heaven.”

The surge of gratitude the beast sends the being causes a small smile to crease the ridgid face. And for the first time the beast sees it warm the angels eyes.

“Well, you are my friend.” It says softly, the comfort of Herd drifting into the beast’s mind, and glancing at the senseless broken charges the angel adds, “and they, they are the hope of the world.”

The angel fades away with a flex of its shadow dark wings and the beast steps through the impossible door that closes silently behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean is injured following the potentially dud/non con sex at the end of the last chapter. Moderate description of injuries immediately at the start of this chapter. Sam is traumatised. Hurt/comfort to follow.


	5. Chapter 4 - Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Baby doesn’t really get anything out of watching the boys recuperate then have recreational sex. It’s nice that they are finding a bit of comfort after the trauma of course, but being so engrossed in one another they show no inclination for giving Baby any of that affection, so it gets boring after a while. But since you might not mind watching for a bit, the interlude switches over to the boys POV and has a little bit of warm fluffy sex. Top Dean.

The air was warm. Not stifling, just gently above body temperature as it caressed softly over his skin. Which actually now that Dean through about it meant he was naked. But at least he laying in soft dry grass. The sound of his brother’s breathing reached his ears even as he cracked open his eyes. That however was the extent of the movement he managed because his body protested loudly in pain. 

Aborting his motion and laying still, Dean instead studied the sky as he catalogued what information he could. It was nearly dawn, the sky lightning from pitch black to steely gray, not a cloud in the sky. The warm line of his brother pressed down his left side and the sounds of his breathing sounded calm and steady in his ear. There was the sound of waves lapping gently on a shore not too far away and the ground was warm and soft beneath his back. In fact if he didn’t try to move this might almost be heaven. Well, if heaven wasn’t full of bastard sons of bitches. And if he couldn’t feel layers of unknown filth coating his skin. And if the smell rising off him didn’t remind him quite so much of offal and his mouth didn’t taste like arse (and not in the fun way). Deep sigh. 

A whuffle of breath and the shift of heavy bulk told him his baby was near before a large black void blanked out the brightening sky. A cloud of damp musty air enveloped his face, and an unfortunate mulch of half chewed grass and horse slobber was smeared across his skin as the beast lipped enthusiastically at his cheek. 

“Yeah, alright Baby alright. G’ud t’ see ya too. Ge’ off me.” He mumbled and mustered up the will to give the beast a fond pat before pushing it away and wiping his face.

Sitting up was almost more effort then it was worth but he persevered through the blazing pain that seemed to come from every inch of his body. A quick glance assured him of his brother, their packs dumped on his far side, before the somewhat tropical beach caught his attention. It was said if you ranged far enough south you found places like these but they hadn’t ever spent time on the coast. The brothers mostly roamed the wilds of the midwest where the demons could cause havoc unchecked. 

He cast a suspicious glance at the enormous steed who somehow managing to look smug. “Where the fuck are we?” 

The beast didn’t answer but then that had never stopped Dean talking to it before. Instead the man huffed at the creature, its relaxed posture proof that wherever this was it was safe, and turned his attention to his brother. 

“Sam?” the word slipped out quietly as he laid a tender hand over a massive shoulder. The naked skin scored with masses of old scars under the dried blood and dirt. 

That last fight had been bad. It had been a long time since Sam had been so close to the precipice of damnation. He fought the pull every day, every battle, and though he stumbled and slid, the call of his demon blood singing in his veins was never louder than the call of the other half of his soul. But yesterday had been close. It wouldn’t just be the state of the injuries he had inflicted on Dean’s body that would wreck him when his mind cleared, it would be how much he had burned with the desired to drown the world in blood and flame and laugh as it died. But first they needed to clean up and assess their injuries. Then Dean would work on coaxing his brother through the pain.

The trip down to the nearby waters was slow and hindered but the waters were warm and crystal clear. Though Sam was still mostly unresponsive, Dean took time gently clearing the grime from their flesh and assessing his wounds.

The horse took time to wander the cove, finding a fresh water steam and an improbable combination of fruit trees. As it rolled and frolicked in freshwater, shaking its mane like a colt, the beast eyed the gently swaying fruit trees and had a strong suspicion that its friend might have done some tampering, but the apples it found were sharp and juicy and the horse was not one to complain.

-

The days passed in warmth and safety. The bright summer days and sun speckled waters almost miraculously healing. The still gentle nights, time for comfort and tears. The conflict free tranquility a balm to their tortured souls.

They had spare clothing in the packs but their boots had been lost to the night. But bare feet in the soft warm sands was no hardship. And each day that Dean stepped barefoot across the soft giving sand, he moved with more surety as life seemed to flow from the very Earth itself and the pain eased from his body, and in return some of the grief and tormented guilt eased from his brother’s eyes. 

-

Sam was laying on his back. His rough spun shirt was unbuttoned midway, his lost coat and hat not missed. His sturdy trousers were rolled up to his calves and his head propped up on his pack. His gaze was far away across the lapping waves as they glinted and rolled in the sun, but no frown creased his faceted eyes, and the smouldering embers of hellfire were as low as Dean had seen them in years.

“Hey Sammy, have you eaten?” Dean asked quietly. He had been speaking often the last few days, using both noise and touch to break through Sam’s mire of guilt and pain. 

Sam flicked his eyes to his brother and a wash of sadness swept over his face, he opened his mouth to once again beg for forgiveness but his throat seized closed and instead he settled on a carefully neutral expression and shook his head.

Of course Dean saw, but he was glad when the heartbreaking pleas stalled in his brothers throat. There were only so many ways he could think to say that there would never be anything to forgive. But where words weren’t enough, he had a plan. “Good. Because I managed to swipe some apples before Baby eats them all.” Dean smirked and made exaggerated chomping noises, the faint creases around his emerald eyes catching the sun as he smiled. And a tiny reluctant smile at his antics curved Sam’s lips and causing a shy hint of dimples.

Dean cut a slice of apple and leaning over his brother he whispered in his most salacious voice, “don’t you want a bite of my apple?” 

Sam snorted lightly that Dean should cast Sam in the role of Eve, but immediately the thought turned sour and he reversed the roles in his head. Of course Sam was the serpent. 

Dean didn’t give the thought he saw flashing through his brothers eyes, any time to grow. Placing the fruit between his teeth he leaned in to feed it into Sam’s mouth with his tongue.

The apple was crisp and cool and Dean’s tongue was warm and wet. The contrast was enough to arrest Sam’s thoughts and he raised questioning eyes to his brother. This time Dean’s smile was soft and genuine as he set his antics aside.

“Always you and me Sammy,” he murmured leaning in to chase the taste of apple from Sam’s lips. “Always.”

And Sam finally sighed as he tried to still his thoughts. “Love you.” He murmured back through the taste of apple, and the unique taste of Dean. The I’m so sorry still echoed in his mind but the words on his lips was. “Love you Always.” A vow as much as an apology. 

And the smile that Dean gave him outshone the sun as he dropped the apple and his knife and rolled to lay himself on top of his brother. Lips suckling gently on the sharp cheekbones, and the brow so often caught in frown, the eyelids that encased the most amazing multi coloured orbs, and the small moles the graced his cheeks.

The heavy warmth of Dean’s weight blanketed Sam, grounding him in security and forgiveness. And he wound his arms around his brother and returned softest most gentle kisses on whatever skin he could reach.

Their movements were calm and unhurried.

It had been so long since Dean had been able to show Sam his love like this. This time he really was in Paradise, he thought, as he worshipped at the altar of his god. Each lap of his tongue a psalm of devotion, each caress of his hand a prayer of supplication and every roll of his hips a vow of adoration. 

And Sam returned each motion with equal but careful fervor. The liquid fire that scourged his soul banked and contained, swept back from his bones, his soul encompassed and encased in the purest expression of love. Love which found its home and its perfect response within the imperfect flesh of his broken body. Where two halves of a ruptured soul became whole.

The clothes disappeared with gentle tugging. The swell and roll of their bodies uninterrupted. But it was Sam’s hand that reached sideways for the pack and caught up the small vial of oil. Sam’s hand that popped the cork and with oil in his palm took hold of his brother’s fingers and guided them to his body. The love in Dean’s eyes at that moment would guard his dreams for years. 

And Dean took his time slow and tender. Every ounce of love that he could pour into his motions he pressed into the delicate skin of his brother’s most vulnerable core. And when at last he removed his fingers and sheathed himself in the burning warm of his brother’s flesh, it was a homecoming. And their breath swept as one past joint lips. Fingers entwined one with each other, hips rising and falling in unison, hearts beating as one.

And that shining cloud of glory broke and rolled over them in glittering waves, and the world faded away till nothing else existed in the universe ‘cept the singular soul which in its brightness was the crowning pinnacle of all creation.


	6. Chapter 5 - once more unto the breach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Back to Baby

Sam - the tall master - was loose and relaxed. His rangy limbs moved with the unbridled energy of a colt. His neck was loose and free, his head up and hair lifting and catching in the gentle breeze. His hands were easy and gentle as they soothed tuffs of dry grass along Baby’s immaculately gleaming coat. Of course the happiness was contagious. With a mischievous gleam in its eye, the great midnight beast frisked and danced as if the soothing motions tickled. ‘Accidently’ flicking its tail into the tall man's face and knocking into him with its great haunches. From where he sat nearby the sounds of Dean’s stifled chuckles could be heard in between happy words that seemed to be attempts to give ‘helpful’ advice. The laughter dancing in the tall master’s eyes at their silly antics caused joyful wuffles of air to rumble out of the beasts lips and it pranced in glee.

Of course it couldn’t last.

The afternoon had grown later and was again calm and tranquil, as seemed to be the way of this place. The sun made its quiet way towards the clear horizon and the birds called contentedly in the distance. The creature had been turning its thoughts towards its friend of late. The parting commands of “call” and “well” a clear picture in its mind. And the masters were as well now as the beast had ever seen them. But their happiness was an even rarer gift and the beast knew as well as any that when they left this place that gift would fade. So the call had not yet been made. But regardless of that fact there was a sense of growing anticipation in the air.

The masters were wrapped one about each other in idle communion as they silently watched the waves, but the shifting of the beast drew their attention. The air before the creature shimmered and parted and the angel appeared out of nowhere. Startled exclamations rang out as the men lept to their feet, but the great animal just swished its tail lazily and leaned to briefly butt its nose against the celestial. The greeting was not as enthusiastic as it could have been but then the angel did not appear to be smiling either.

“I am sorry my friend,” it rumbled “we are out of time.” And a sense of alarm and urgency swept into the steed’s mind though the angel’s posture remained unchanged. The man-shaped being with the shadow black wings turned towards the dumbfounded men. They were eyeing their loyal companion with unabashed astonishment. Never did the creature show any inclination to interact with any others except in defense or battle. That it should show affection to a stranger was inconceivable. But Dean’s eyes had widened and the exclamation that he directed towards the being held recognition.

“Hello Dean.” The angel stated gravely. “It has been a long time, and formal introductions were never made. My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the lord. I am sorry to come to you now like this but there is no time. I have a mission for you both and there is work to be done.”

As the angel spoke words to the humans it added the images for the benefit of its friend. The demoness Lilith the first daughter of the Morning Star had found a wrent in the veil and slipped into this world. Heaven’s efforts to find and contain her had been unsuccessful. She had brought more and more minor demons forth to the world in a effort to distract from her actions (the masters had shared a significant look at this). Her actions which had but one purpose. To break the chains of her father's bonds and set him free to once more walk the Earth. The angel warned that should the Morning Star be freed the destruction would make Yellow Eye’s demon horde look like a child's tantrum. (Sam had shuddered violently at that).

Unfortunately time had run out. Heaven had learned that Lilith had collected all the foul items that she needed to conduct the unholy rite to loose the evil one. She was on her way to a place where the veil was weak, an insignificant cemetery in southern Wyoming, to conduct the rite this very night under the dark of the lunar eclipse. 

For the first time they knew where and when the demoness would be. If they could reach the place before her and lay ambush by way of mighty arcane symbols known only to the angels, she could be trapped and bound, and without her the plan would be impossible.

(“So why come to us? You have your plan.” Dean’s tone had been less than cordial, bordering on billegerant. The angel’s response gave detail to the issue.) A rare flare of emotion had lit the angel’s deep blue eyes. Guilt? Shame? Determination? It was hard to define.

“Heaven will not aid us. In this I work alone.” Michael had decreed that heaven would not interfere, if their absent creator should will the evil one be loosed, then let devine will be done. And Michael alone would take up the sword and champion the forces of heaven to victory in glorious single combat against the newly risen dred foe. 

One single lowly angel with time to prepare might just be able to ensnare Lilith, but should any of her servants accompany her, the task would fail without assistance. The celestial’s plan was simple. They would travel immediately into striking distance of the event. At enough distance that their door would go unnoticed by heaven or hell, but close enough that they should have time to steal into the site and prepare an ambush. They would lay in hiding until the Demoness was within the trap and distracted by her rites then the angel would bind her while the brothers destroyed her servants. Once Lilith was bound Castiel would carry her forth to a warded location known only to himself and the key to the Morning Star’s chains would be forever lost. The bothers would depart the site with all haste lest Heaven take notice of the disturbance.

Dean is not happy with the plan. The great beast shifts nervously with the mounting tension and eyes its master with caution, it can see the doubt and apprehension in every line of the stoic man’s body. It is the quiet words: “We’ll do it” from the tall master's mouth, that bring an angry grunt of disagreement and for several moments furious words flash back and forth between them far too fast to follow. The words “a few demons” and “the whole world” floating out of the hubbub from Sam.

Dean still is not happy as the brothers move to gather up their packs. Apprehension and uncertainty clear in his emerald eyes. But his loyalty is never in question. Castiel hands to them sturdy leather boots, great long black coats, wide brimmed hats, and thick leather gloves. It gives them flasks of clear sweet water blessed by a saint. Knives of pure silver forged by a hermit monk. And it marks over their hearts in black oil that stains, a pentagram bound in a circle. The angel calmly plucks each item from the air as if it is nothing and arranges the men almost dispassionately. And at last the men stand beside the steadfast horse the image of the heroes of the West. And the sun is setting as they mount the great black steed, the dying light casting a golden gleam to their rugged features. Their backs are straight and their hats pulled low as their long coats flutter lightly in the breeze. And they ride into the fading light of the sun, through a door that shouldn't exist, to once again do battle for the world.

And the mutter of an imperfect hero drifts away on the breeze “Son-of-a-mother-fucking-bitch.”


	7. Chapter 6 - and now the end is near

The night has grown dark around the steed as it steeps from nowhere to somewhere in the blink of an eye. They find themselves on a ridge looking over a plain now shrouded in darkness.  
There is an evil red glow in the sky to the south, though the sun is set and the direction is wrong. The full moon in the east sailing up into the empty night sky is still clear of any shadow but the increase in tension is immediate. All eyes fix on the ominous red glow. 

The tall master breaths a question, fear catching at the edge of his tone.

The angel shakes its head firmly. “I still have to try.”

The beast knows that the bothers take a moment to silently commune. It feels them shift to gain access to each other's eyes. Their decision is never really in doubt. It feels their determination and the resolve that tightens their bodies. As they firm their seats and take tight hold of its mane, it is already leaping into motion as the master barks out “Run”

Baby leaps from the ridge, its great neck pushed forth to its fullest extent. Nostrils flared wide to draw in great lungfuls of breath as it powers its massive haunches and charges through the night. Strong black legs extended in impossible ground eating bursts, the thundering of its hooves rumbling like a storm gathering in the night and breaking across the plain. Its mane and tail streaming in the wind of its making, as the gleaming black beast catches the silver glint of the moon. Only a fool would stand strong in the face of this charge - its way remains clear as it closes in on its goal - an awed hush of silence marks its passing.

-

The sky is turned to blood and clouds boil out of emptiness to swirl in agitation above the woebegotten cemetery. A woman stands amidst the chaos before a stone door, her naked skin gleaming in the fearsome red glow. The wind whips up her long blond hair as she screams sharp jagged words to the angry sky. The sound of her voice carries the wailing of infants and the moans of the dead. 

The angel appears in the sky above her. The vast black of its wings blotting out the clouds. Lightning roars and crackles around it and its eyes glow with a fearsome white light. It stretches forth a hand blazing with power and descends like the wrath of god. But the woman is laughing as she throws up her hands and she weathers the attack with a minimum of distress. The power that she blasts back sucks warmth from the air and the battle is joined.

Upon the quaking ground amidst ruined tombstones the air begins to boil and like a poisonous smoke taking form, demons surge into being.

The beast screams out its battle cry and charges straight into the thick, deadly hooves smashing and grinding. One man upon its back leans low to slash with demon blade, while the other grasps steady to the back of his coat and lashes about with invisible power thrown by a push of his other hand.

The numbers are too many and the fiends are pushing back. From beyond the throng the sound of the woman’s cackling can not mean anything good for the angel. It seems that their mission will be lost. The change comes as the world is consumed in a flash of blinding pure light. The hordes fall silent and hope springs in the minds of the companions.

But as the light coalesces and begins to take shape, the form of a man appears above them. The breadth of pure white wings eclipse the sky, and though he burns with terrible beauty the cool selfish eyes do not shine with righteousness power. And a voice like an avalanche calls out “No! This fight will be mine!” as a blast of white power strikes down the black winged angel and the woman begins to howl with joy.

It is the master who screams “No!” Who with a glance to his brother throws himself from the horse and impossibly charges the archangel. The strangled cry of “Dean!” from the tall master as he stumbles after, is almost enough to halt Dean’s steps but the man charges on. 

The demon horde senses that the light does not herald their doom and turning away from the mighty lord of heaven they renew their attack. The tall master is surrounded. The beast slashes and lunges, using strong blunt teeth, and massive hooves and its very body itself to protect its charge. But Sam is frozen. Through a gap in the battle Castiel lies broken on the ground, its eyes scorched away and its wings burnt into the mud. Michael is playing with his brother, his eyes grasping and greedy as he lets the human attack before dealing grievous blows. And the woman is once again screaming blasphemy into the sky as the clouds weep tears of blood and the stone door begins to glow.

It is not until Michael delivers unto Dean such a fearsome blow that the man collapses to the ground like every bone has been shattered that Sam unfreezes and screams out “NO!”

And though it is desperation it is also a command, and the strength of it is such that for a moment the very universe falls silent. Not a thing moves. Not a creature breathes. And every eye is caught on this terrible being. Such a God as no monster, or angel, or demon has ever seen before. One that should never have been able to hide in the guise of a man. And as it again commands “NO!” The archangel is destroyed in a blinding flash of light. 

And the eyes that the god turns on the demon horde are too terrible to behold. They are not flames in the void, for the void itself is consumed. They are the death of all things, a depth of nothingness that suffers not even flame to live. And one by one the demons begin to crumple and scream. What at first appears to be smoke rising from their skin, is their very flesh itself as it withers and decays and gives way into nothingness.

For the first time the beast knows all consuming fear. This is not the master as he was fresh from hell. This is not the master as Yellow Eye offered him the world. This time the world will not burn at the hands of his master. It will be consumed into absolute nothingness. A void so bereft and barren that no sign will remain that life ever existed.

The creature searches desperately for its master. DEAN! The scream it neighs out is more fearsome than its battle cry. But the human lies crumpled and bleeding. The pool of blood surrounding him is too great and no movement stirs his limbs. The horse stumbles through the dying horde ignoring the decaying bodies it tramples underfoot. The head it lowers to the human is not gentle. It nudges harshly at the man's body, battering at chest and shoulders then lipping frantically at his face, but no breath stirs in the man. DEAN! 

There is no sudden gasp of breath, no last minute rouse to life and the demon horde is almost gone. Lilith consumed by madness is still trying to open the door. The purposeful raging of her voice suddenly loud in the hush.

“I can hear him you know.” Sam’s voice doesn’t sound like Sam any more. It sounds like death. And the words take shape in the steed’s mind as if creation has no option but to heed the voice of god. He is speaking to Lilith. She isn’t listening yet but she will. As she dies.

“I used to be scared of his call.” The voice is utterly devoid of emotion. “I thought the song of Hell was too sweet. Only the faintest hint of the Light Bringer. I thought when I heard that song in full I would crave nothing else ever again. But I did not know. I did not know. His is the voice of a child, hoping to play with his toys. But he should know by now. Happiness is a lie. And nothing is sweet.”

Lilith screams as she dies. The god just watches impassively. And silence returns to the night. The Light Bringer does not rise at the sacrifice of his daughter, her rite completed in desperation as she died. The moon has hidden its face. Or maybe the god has destroyed it. But it seems the evil one has no desire to greet its new god.

And the noble creature dares not to move from over its perished charge. The voids that were the eyes of the god pass over the stone door as the glow fades. They cross over the devastation of the cemetery and the crumpled form of the angel uncaring. They do not see the steed. But as they pass the broken body of one battered imperfect man, they flinch. Just for one second.

There is the tiniest clench in the god’s jaw as the face remains impassive. But the beast knows his master, the man the god used to be. And it knows that clench of the jaw. Its fear is almost overwhelming as it steps towards the god.

His eyes have left the broken body. He does not want to see. “Let it end.” He says quietly. But a weight, warm and sudden presses to his chest. The head of a giant black steed. The god would be astonished if any emotion were possible for him. Instead there is just the cold of the void and the little ball of pressure outside it, that he refuses to acknowledge.

Great onyx eyes lift to meet the void. 

It was not black eyes meeting black. It was the emptiness of absolute death meeting the living breathing spark of the starry night sky. One devoid of everything, one that seems empty but in fact can hold anything. The possibility of infinite wonder the longer you search. And the beast said Dean

And though the god flinched and turned away, the great black steed pushed out the thought with resolute determination and all that it had. Dean.

Long days on an empty road the miles disappearing under black hooves. The weight of his brother glued to his front as they rode as one. The joy that shone from his brother’s soul as Baby opened up its stride and Ran. The lines that creased emerald eyes when he allowed himself to throw back his head as he laughed. The sound of his voice as he murmured ‘Baby’ that name that was only surpassed by one other: ‘Sammy’

And the god began to weep as the void crumbled and began to collapse. The taste of apples on his lips combined with the taste of Dean, the weight of warm calloused hands and sure enduring arms, the smile in his eyes on an impossible beach when two bodies moves in perfect harmony.  
And the crushing weight was so much worse than the void. Worse than any man or god could endure.  
“... but he’s gone….” the words are tiny and childlike. Stripped of all power and strength.

And the steed once more presses its head to its master’s chest . 

Always. It is a promise and a vow.

And like his strings have been cut the broken god crumples to his knees and flings himself over the body of his brother. And his weeping is ragged and bereft, the loss terrible in its devastation. But the universe is not consumed in death and the moon shyly decides to show its face once again, and the steed stands guard of its charges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - I have no idea when the state of Wyoming was founded so if its way off just ignore it as AU. But I wanted it to be Wyoming, because although this is kinda Swan Song, Lawrence has no meaning in this AU. So although we already pretty much did All Hell Breaks Loose and Azazel in And He Rides A Black Horse, I thought I would use the Devils Gate site anyway. ;P
> 
> Oh and I promised a happy ending don’t worry :)


	8. Epilogue

Castiel stands in a ruined cemetery in rural southern Wyoming as the sun begins to rise. The door through the veil remains closed. The song of Hell is silent, the hordes and Lilith are dead. The evil one did not rise and Michael is gone. The only sound that disturbs the air are tiny exhausted sobs that speak of loss beyond measure.

The angel has no idea how it comes to be standing here. It was dead. The power of an archangel undeniable. Yet here it finds itself standing as the sun paints the ruins in gold, as if to make up for the horrors of the night.

In the growing light depthless blue eyes take in the sight of a beast. A horse black as midnight, far larger than any the world has ever seen. And it stands guard over the forms of two men. One crumpled and lifeless and the other broken and devastated by sorrow.

The celestial being approaches on silent feet and greets quietly, “Hello my friends.”  
The weeping man does not pause in his sorrows but the steed leans in wearily to lay a head to the angels chest. And with a kind pat, the angel folds itself down to the floor and stretches forth two fingers to the forehead of the downed hero. It is the intrusion that raises a grief ravaged face to meet the celestial being with the eyes of deep blue. And a question vaguely starts to form on that face but a sharp intake of breath leaves no room for anything else. Bright green eyes have opened in a face now whole and clean. And the word “Sammy” breathes into the shining morning air as if it is the only word in all of creation. 

There is no possible description that can convey the joy and relief which that single word produced. For it was exactly as the steed had always known. Sammy was not just the word for god, it was the word for Home and Eternity.

-

The angel and the beast were deep in silent conversation. Their charges had been otherwise occupied for some time and showed no indication of ceasing their activities any time soon.

Dean had barely finished saying Sam’s name before the taller man had been wrapped around him. His actions desperate and urgent but careful and reverent. No spark of fire remaining in his clear hazel blue eyes, as he placed his lips over every inch of his brother and whispered love and devotion with every breath.

Clothes had disappeared and the angel had snapped a vial of oil into the taller mans hand without a word. The man hadn’t even looked up, the arrival of the vial totally unquestioned as it began to be immediately used for purposes.

The beast and the celestial watched the oblivious humans in their ministrations, totally unabashed. Until even the great steeds boundless joy at the reunion of its masters, could not overcome the simple fact that these activities were surely much more enjoyable to take part in then to observe because even through its joy it was becoming bored.

Of course rather than disturb them the creature watched guard with half an eye (more out of habit then necessity) as it told its friend of the events that took place after the angel had died. When at last the great tale was done the angel heaved a sigh and glanced back to the writhing humans.

Let us hope that the hand of destiny now passes to another, it said to its friend, they have surely suffered enough. 

But then the ancient being turned and looked the steadfast companion directly in the eyes and added, but you know that those two were not the only ones touched by destiny? I think there was a purpose to why you lost your home. That I should come to raise you up and place you on a path to serve two broken imperfect men in desperate need of such love. It was not a man who saved the world this time. And the world will never even know to thank you.

And the steadfast beast, it’s beautiful strong lines gleaming proud in the the sun like the silver shot through blackest night, allows that thought to roll through its mind. And their gazes drifted back to their precious charges still clinched in all consuming passion. And through its renewed surge of joy the horse thinks it has all the thanks it ever wanted.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it. Hope my craziness made sense to you. I know it’s not an easy read. Baby’s POV gives an air of detachment. Present tense and archaic language make the narrative surreal. And I am well aware that there are some weighty issues that are only briefly considered due to the swift strokes of the story telling. But I did warn you my Muse was crazy, and this is the way she told me this story.  
> Dont know if I will ever do more in this 'Verse. If I do it will probably be in a more traditional story telling style. But who knows.  
> Take it up with my Muse if you have strong feelings either way ;)  
> Xx


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